Array ( [sid] => 133998 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Still [time] => 2007-05-01 12:19:14 [hometext] => [bodytext] => There is a shapeless figure in the corner of the room, moving us to look at it. Sharing the space of this room with it, the three of us can feel it twisting and squeezing and fiddling around over there.

We can feel it, and somehow we have to stop ourselves from turning to face it, as if gravity itself is pulling our gaze that way. It's blocking the doorway, and now the fear is unbearable so I bury my face into the wall. I try to go somewhere else in my head, but my thoughts seem irreversibly focused on the corner by the door on the opposite wall.

I hear a scream and I know Paul is staring at it, staring deep into that pure fear. And he looks down and sees a long thin wire, sticking right out of his left atrium. His eyes follow it to a motionless figure underneath the bed-sheets. This is where his dead love is rotting; he knows this, and he screams so loud he goes deaf.

Every sense now is bright and numb, and I won't dare to make a single move, save letting my head sink deeper into the chalky white wall.

It's still. The inconceivable kind of still that permeates everything and hangs the blood, sweat and chalk heavily in the air. Time has broken into wire and shards long, long ago; and nothing, absolutely nothing.

Who am I kidding? I've already looked at it, haven't I? [comments] => 3 [counter] => 192 [topic] => 13 [informant] => wakingdream [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Still


Still
Date: Tuesday, 1st May 2007 @ 12:19:14 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: wakingdream
There is a shapeless figure in the corner of the room, moving us to look at it. Sharing the space of this room with it, the three of us can feel it twisting and squeezing and fiddling around over there.

We can feel it, and somehow we have to stop ourselves from turning to face it, as if gravity itself is pulling our gaze that way. It's blocking the doorway, and now the fear is unbearable so I bury my face into the wall. I try to go somewhere else in my head, but my thoughts seem irreversibly focused on the corner by the door on the opposite wall.

I hear a scream and I know Paul is staring at it, staring deep into that pure fear. And he looks down and sees a long thin wire, sticking right out of his left atrium. His eyes follow it to a motionless figure underneath the bed-sheets. This is where his dead love is rotting; he knows this, and he screams so loud he goes deaf.

Every sense now is bright and numb, and I won't dare to make a single move, save letting my head sink deeper into the chalky white wall.

It's still. The inconceivable kind of still that permeates everything and hangs the blood, sweat and chalk heavily in the air. Time has broken into wire and shards long, long ago; and nothing, absolutely nothing.

Who am I kidding? I've already looked at it, haven't I?

This poem is Copyright © wakingdream


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